


Torture

by fhsa_archivist



Category: CSI: Crime Scene Investigation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-01
Updated: 2004-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-05 18:10:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12799593
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fhsa_archivist/pseuds/fhsa_archivist
Summary: Written from one of Peja's Challenges, it's from Greg's POV





	Torture

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Haven, the archivist: This story was originally archived at [Fandom Haven Story Archive (FHSA)](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Fandom_Haven_Story_Archive), was scheduled to shut down at the end of 2016. To preserve the archive, I began working with the OTW to transfer the stories to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in November 2017. If you are this creator and the work hasn't transferred to your AO3 account, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Fandom Haven Story Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/fhsa/profile).

TORTURE

 

Written from Greg's POV.

 

*** *** ***

The trouble with being in love with one of your coworkers, is that you see him all day - or night - long. I, of course, had the incredible stupidity to fall for a man who has absolutely no concept of personal space. He comes in my lab, leaning over me, gotta see what I'm doing, throwing a "hiya buddy, how are you?" arm around my shoulders...he hovers, too. Hovers behind me when I'm working on some of his evidence. When he does, I can feel his breath on my neck. I get so hard, I wind up in the bathroom, the one all the way in the back behind the autopsy room, jacking myself off just so I can walk for the rest of shift.

 

It's torture.

 

Pure, fucking torture. Sometimes I think good ole Nicky-boy does it on purpose. The rest of the time? I'm just grateful he does. I wonder what he'd do if I just laid him out on the Trace table one night and sucked him right down my throat. 

 

Speak of the devil and the devil shall make a beeline to torment the hell out you. Walking in my door, well, Clark County's door, anyway, baggie in hand. Of course, you're at the top of my list, Nick, sure, I'll have your analysis by the end of the night, Nick, hey, I'm fucking in love with you, Nick, would you mind if I buried my face in those blue jeans when you peel them off later, Nick?

 

Not the grin. Oh, God, not the grin. I'd eat a couple of lifecycles worth of Grissom's bugs for one of those grins.

 

"Hello? Greg?"

 

Nick's waving a hand in front of me. Hi yourself, Nick.

 

"Well?" he's saying. 

 

He raises his eyebrows, I realize I should probably be answering something right about now. I stare at him blankly, having no idea what he might have just said.

 

"Sure. You're on," I toss out, hoping it's the right answer.

 

"Great, I'll see you Saturday then!"

 

And then he's leaving. Opening the door.....

 

"Hey, Greggo!" He stops at the door. "Do you have any idea what you just agreed to?"

 

"Not a clue," I admit.

 

He laughs softly, a low sound from deep in that beautiful throat.

 

"Nick?"

 

He leaves, the door closes behind him. He glances back once.

 

He's still grinning.


End file.
